Chapter Text
By late afternoon, Sunday has melted into that soft, syrupy kind of time where nothing feels real and everything feels safe.
Baran’s couch is too big for one person and just right for two. Trinity is sprawled across it like a cat in borrowed clothes, and Baran is half‑lying on top of her — not intentionally, not dramatically, just… there. Heavy in the comforting way. Warm. Her hair smells faintly of sour watermelon from last night’s vape chaos.
Trinity’s phone is balanced in one hand, TikTok videos flickering across the screen. Baran’s chin is resting on Trinity’s shoulder, her breath warm against Trinity’s neck every time she laughs.
And she does laugh — real, unguarded, surprised little bursts that Trinity feels in her ribs.
“Show me another one,” Baran mumbles, voice thick with leftover sleep.
Trinity scrolls. “This one’s stupid.”
“Perfect.”
They watch a video of a dog trying to jump onto a sofa and missing by a full foot. Baran snorts into Trinity’s shoulder. Trinity giggles. The couch creaks under their combined weight.
It feels like a bubble.
A pocket of air where the world can’t reach them.
Then Trinity’s phone buzzes.
Once.
Twice.
Three times in quick succession.
Baran shifts slightly, half‑asleep. “Who’s that?”
Trinity doesn’t answer.
She already knows.
She opens her messages.
YOLA<3:
Why are you ignoring me?
Seriously what the hell are you doing?
Trin??
Are you with someone?
Don’t be stupid.
Trinity’s stomach twists.
Baran, still draped over her like a sleepy cat, murmurs, “You okay?”
Trinity swallows. “Yeah. Just… Yola.”
Baran goes still. Not tense — just listening.
Another message pops up.
YOLA<3:
Answer me.
Trinity stares at the screen.
She could lie.
She could apologise.
She could fold herself back into the shape Yolanda likes — small, convenient, waiting.
But Baran shifts in her sleep, nuzzling into Trinity’s shoulder, and something inside Trinity snaps into place.
Not anger.
Not rebellion.
Clarity.
She opens the camera.
Flips it.
Snaps a photo.
Baran is asleep on her chest, face turned away, hair falling across Trinity’s shirt. Trinity blurs Baran’s face with her thumb — quick, instinctive, protective.
She types:
“what if i said she is what i’m doing?”
Her thumb hovers for a second.
Then she hits send.
The message whooshes away.
Trinity’s heart thuds once, hard.
Baran stirs. “What’d you do?”
Trinity locks her phone and sets it face‑down on the couch. “Something I should’ve done ages ago.”
Baran lifts her head, eyes half‑open, soft with sleep. “Hmm?”
Trinity brushes a crumb of pancake off Baran’s cheek. “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”
Baran makes a small, content noise and settles back down, her weight warm and grounding.
Trinity exhales slowly.
The bubble doesn’t burst.
It expands.
They watch more TikToks — or rather, Trinity watches them while Baran drifts in and out of sleep, occasionally mumbling commentary that makes no sense.
“That cat is lying,” Baran mutters at one point.
“It’s a cat,” Trinity whispers back, trying not to laugh. “They do that.”
Baran hums like this is profound.
Trinity’s phone buzzes again, but she doesn’t look.
Not yet.
Not now.
She’s too busy memorising the weight of Baran’s arm across her stomach.
The warmth of her breath.
The way her hair tickles Trinity’s jaw.
The quiet.
God, the quiet.
She didn’t know she needed this until she had it.
Eventually, Baran wakes properly — blinking, stretching, groaning like an old man.
“What time is it?” she asks.
“Almost five.”
Baran frowns. “We’ve been here for hours.”
“Yeah.”
Baran shifts, propping herself up on one elbow. “You okay? You went quiet.”
Trinity hesitates.
Then she says, “Yolanda’s mad.”
Baran’s expression doesn’t change, but something in her eyes sharpens. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” Trinity says. Then, softer: “Yes. But not right now.”
Baran nods. “Okay.”
Trinity looks at her — really looks — and something in her chest loosens.
She doesn’t have to explain.
She doesn’t have to apologise.
She doesn’t have to shrink.
Not here.
Not with her.
Baran settles back down, head on Trinity’s chest again, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Trinity picks up her phone.
One new message.
YOLA<3:
Who is she?
Trinity turns the phone off.
She doesn’t need to answer that.
Not today.